Hunters of the High Heroes
by Autori Fantasia
Summary: When you throw the daughter of Ben Blue and Tory Brennan and the son of Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase together in one great big pile of immortal shit, what else could happen other than them being forced into a roundabout mission to save what family they have left before it all goes to Hell? T for swearing and Ten/Percabeth fluff. (Ya, its a thing! Read to understand)
1. Chapter 1

**Hey! So, as you might have guessed, I'm having an ****_eensy_**** bit of trouble with writing chapter 3 of my Virals story, Genetics, and I've been screaming this at myself in the mirror for a while now (don't judge: my best friend, Airreon Princess, has no patience to listen to me rant about PJO and Virals anymore) and decided, WTH, I'll see if they like Next Generation Stories. **

**So, yeah, if you didn't catch that, this story is set up as the Virals' kids and the Demigods' kids. When they meet, what more can you expect other than all hell breaking loose? Hope you enjoy. **

**Before I forget, I all I own is this lovely life I live on this lovely website, along with some of my wacky creations I threw into the mix. I do not own PJO (boo!) nor do I own Virals (BOOOOO!). Respectively, PJO goes to Rick Riordan and Virals to Kathy and Brendan Reichs. I WISH I were them, only talent-wise, of course. I do quite enjoy my teenage years and am looking hopefully to the brightest star, second on the right, for eternal awesomeness!**

* * *

Percy sat down at the edge of the bed and smiled at tight, strained smile. "Hey, Sailor," he said with a small sigh. If he had hoped it wasn't going to make them worry, he was mistaken. The figure Percy had been smiling at wriggled themselves out from under the covers and crawled their way over to him. They plopped themselves onto hi lap and placed a hand on Percy's cheek, right above the smile lines that weren't really there.

"What's wrong, daddy?" the little boy asked.

Percy's eyes softened and he looked at his son with a more realistic, small smile. "I need you to do something for me, Alec."

"Anything, daddy," Alec promised solemnly, lowering his hand to hold his father's, "but... can I ask you a question first?"

"Sure thing."

"Why do you call me Sailor sometimes and call me Alec sometimes too?"

Percy smiled at this. "I call you Alec because that's a shorter name for your full name, Alexander. I call you Sailor because that's what I am, that's what my father was and that's what I think you're going to be. But, its all up to you."

Alec's brow wrinkled as he tried to process. "So... you were a sailor, Poseidon was a sailor-"

"That's what I need to talk to you about," Percy cut in before Alec could go any further.

Alec blinked, surprised. "About how granddaddy is Poseidon?"

"No, Alec. I need to talk to you about everything your mother and I have told you about magic."

"What about the magic?"

Percy squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath before continuing. This was going to change most every aspect of his son's life.

"It was all stories, Alec. And I need you to remember it that way. All of it; the Lightning Thief, the Sea of Monsters, the Battle of the Labrynth, the Titan's Curse, the Last Olympian, the Lost Hero, the Son of Neptune, the Mark of Athena, the House of Hades, the Blood of Olympus; none of it was real."

Alec's eyes widened and his bottom lip quivered. He squeezed Percy's hand tight. "Not... real?"

Percy shook his head sadly. What more was there to say? "I'm sorry Alec. Both your mother and I love fairy tales and decided to make our own." Percy stood up, letting go of his son's hand. "You're your mother's son, Alec, but you're still seven. I'll give you the night to think about it." With that he walked away, leaving his seven-year-old little boy who looked exactly like him - same blue eyes, same dark brown hair, same penchant for trouble - staring after him.

* * *

"I don't know about this, Ben," Tory said nervously, "I don't think I can do it."

"You know that I have no choice, Tor. If I go in there I don't think I'll be able to bring myself out."

Tory grasped Ben's hand and stared him hard in the eyes. "I know for a fact that I won't be able to."

Ben's hard stare softened a bit and he sighed quietly. He let go of Tory's hand and wrapped her in a hug, her head on his shoulder. "You know we can't stay," he mumbled into her ear. Tory squeezed her eyes shut tight and buried her face into his neck, trying to will off the tears.

"If we stay, we put not only her in danger, but everybody else in Charleston, specifically the other Virals. Tory," he said softly, pulling away a bit to look her in the eyes, "we have to go."

He kissed her lightly and pressed his forehead against hers as the tears began to fall.

Tory threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in Ben's chest as the tears began cascading down her cheeks. "She's only five," Tory sobbed, a total wreak but beyond caring, "she's our daughter and she's only five and we have to leave. Why do we have to leave?!"

Ben clenched his jaw and clutched Tory to his chest, supporting almost all of her weight. He slowly started to walk backwards, towards the front door. Ben was usually the one to cave in situations, but Tory was totally incapacitated from making rational decisions at the time, so Ben had to make them for her. Holding Tory with one hand, he groped for the doorknob with the other and pulled both of them out before quietly closing the door. The oak did nothing to muffle the sobs wreaking havoc on Tory's systems.

"Tory," Ben said, but the girl in his arms did not quiet down at all. "Tory, he said a little more forcefully, with no reply.

"Damnit, Victoria," he whisper-yelled, his frustration showing through. She quieted down a bit and looked at him with so much raw pain in her eyes it took every morsel of strength in him not to turn around and let her back into the house. "Victoria Grace," he said, back in his soft voice, "her name is too long to say in an everyday conversation, so there's a high and mighty chance that she'll go by Aerie."

Tory looked like she was about to lose it again, but Ben put a finger against her mouth, and so she took a deep breath, nodded, and then he continued.

"We need to give her the best chance we can, and us being here will not give her that chance. The Hunters are coming and we can't just leave her in the line of fire. To keep her close, we need to leave."

Tory clenched her jaw. She knew all of this already, but where they were going to go they may never return from. She nodded, what else could she do?

* * *

Neither Percy nor Annabeth, neither Tory nor Ben, were ever seen again by their children's eyes.

* * *

**And... voilà! Lemme know if I made it sad enough, this story will probably be posted in faster succession than Genetics (at least I hope so!) **

**What more can I say other than R&amp;R, people!**

**\- CoVW**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wassup, everybody! Merry Christmas, and since my timing sucks, a belated one! I had meant to publish this Christmas day, actually, but up until then me and Shingeki No Kyojin (BEST ANIME EVER!) or, in English, Attack on Titan, were inseparable. I decided Christmas was worth spending with my family. (3 family!)**

**By the way, no, I am not one of those girls who spend every waking moment ranting and raving about the Japanese manga characters they deem perfect and the lives they live and the hell-born monsters they constantly battle – I have school, you know! And, yes, there is actually a story following this little bolded bundle of holiday gushiness. Thank you for reading it!**

**_READ THE BOLDED AT THE END I KNOW SOME PEOPLE DON'T BOTHER BUT TRUST ME YOU WILL NOT REGRET IT!_ And that is all. Other than, enjoy!**

"Ha! Swing and miss, Jackson," she smirked at me triumphantly, "that makes the score 5-4, nine points. I win." She grinned widely, revealing pearly white teeth with canines oddly resembling fangs.

I smiled back at her, dropping my sword with a thud and raising my hands in the air sarcastically. "Parlay," I drawled. Ria chuckled, rolling her eyes at me.

Once she had lowered her sword and replaced it in its sheath, I did the same and approached her.

"Nice riposte," I commented. Swordplay was not her best method of hand-to-hand combat, and I was mildly impressed at her besting me in a match. Of course, I say mildly. After first meeting her, I had quickly learned to never underestimate _the_ Ria Brennan.

"Actually, it was a counterattack," she responded snarkily, her smirk returning, "There was no need for a parry." I could see right through her little façade. She was doing her best to keep a cool face, when inside she was doing backflips of joy.

We placed our swords back on the rack and left the training room. Once in the hallway, I mentioned how her skills seemed to be improving. "They're still not quite at my level though," I added before walking away towards the dining hall; I could smell dinner over even the immense sweat stench that loomed in the training room. A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed what I had hoped: she was staring daggers at my back in a way that even my mother, Annabeth Chase, wouldn't have been able to match. I couldn't keep the smile from my face.

"Hold up, Jackasson," **[A/N: no, not a typo]** Ria barked at me, catching up in just a few long strides, "what makes you think that you…" I stopped listening to the words and started focusing on pretty much everything else. Whenever Ria went into ranting mode, she never raises or lowers her voice while doing it, so its pretty easy to tune it out into a constant hum. Every once and a while I would grunt or mumble a short answer, just to keep her talking.

"... and so there is no reason that science-fiction/fantasy realities don't exist in another dimension." Ria concluded, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself. Another thing: Ria Brennan was more of a never-go-back type of person, so her rants tended to get off topic and she never bothered to correct it.

We had reached a 'crossroads' in the hall; I needed to go right, she needed to go left. I looked down at her, a small smile on my face "You done yet," I asked.

Ria glanced up at me and blushed before beelining for the left hall and rounding a corner, disappearing. I rolled my eyes and kept walking in silence.

After passing a bunch of archway doors, I came to a dead end. Well, almost a dead end; an enormous archway that led to the dining hall. I walked in. Once in, I turned a full circle and breathed in deeply. I don't like small, cramped spaces, but I despise crowds. The dining hall was - currently - neither.

We who live here call it the dining hall. In reality its more of a royal ballroom. On the two side walls, ancient painting of both greek and roman legends; Pompeii, Athens, Atlantis (much to my discretion; Atlantis does not exist, any self-respecting demigod sailor will tell you the same), Ogygia, Olympus (the real one, not the Mountain), and a painting of a roman Olympian meeting.

The back wall was all windows. When I was younger, I didn't understand why they hung such a pretty mural on a glass wall. I finally figured out it wasn't a mural. Beyond the wall is the closest thing most mortals would ever compare to the Christian Garden of Eden. Willow trees with gold-like petals lined our little bit of paradise. Right by the window was a garden filled with daisies, tulips, poppies, bluebells, paisleys and multiple others. Roses lay on two rows in front of the trees. Underneath one of the gold-rimmed willows that was at the edge of the garden, a park bench that was always in the shade was. I say edge, but really I should say shore. Beyond the garden was the body of water that made Long Island, Long Island.

On the same wall as the entrance, two giant family trees were hung on the wall. Each picture had a label underneath saying the person's name, their date of birth and death, and the name of their spouse. Each picture was connect to its prescedor by a delicately drawn stem, creating the tree. At the top of each tree was the family name. On the left, the name read "Chase." On the right, "Jackson."

I groaned and lay down on my back on the cold, marble floor of the dining hall. When I was younger, I always used to think I was underdressed when I came in here, but now its just a part of home. Lying there, I stared at the ceiling. Or rather, I stared at the mural on the ceiling. The dome-shaped room was well-dressed enough, but an Ancient Greek mansion just isn't complete without an Ancient Greek mural of an Olympian assembly painted over your head. *Note sarcasm*. It was a nice touch, though.

After a bit, I felt myself falling asleep, so I decided to do it in my own bed. I pulled myself off the floor, the white marble looking gold in the evening sun. Right before I left the hall, I paused and looked up at the words engraved into the wall above the doorway: Artis Non Habet Artifex. It was latin, but so were most demigods.

Built on the remains of Camp Half-Blood, Jackson Manor was home to few. I was lucky enough for it to be home to me.

Artis Non Habet Artifex. Jackson Manor was a place where elemental demigods could harness their powers specifically. As the motto said, 'No Craft Has A Master.'

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**TADAAH! See, I TOLD you it was going to be published faster than Genetics! Still no excuse, but I'm getting better!**

**So, here's that BOLDED THAT I TOLD YOU TO READ!**

**Look out for a New Years post that I will be publishing in my *shocker* PJO posts, on... *another shocker* New Years! Its a quick preview of things to come in this story and I really think you'll all love it. (I really hope you do, I was squealing inside while writing it!)**

**Well, that's enough exclamation points for one A/N. Peace out, R&amp;R, Happy Early New Years and LOVE TEN/PERCABETH! Shit. Exclamation points got in there somehow ;P.**

**-CoVW**

**(!)**


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